


And I Stop Somewhere, Waiting For You

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Lap Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Top Sam, episode fic, season 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: "Get crap food, stuff his face, get drunk."Why is it that Sam's plans for caretaking never seem to go exactly as he wants them to?Not that he's complaining about the outcome, of course.  Coda to 10.03, "Soul Survivor."





	And I Stop Somewhere, Waiting For You

**Author's Note:**

> I am literally three years late to this party, but you guys just can't seem to make me shake it. I have started watching the show again but this time, I've got a clearer head about things and am here absolutely, purely, 100% for Sam and Dean. It never, ever stops being about those beautiful boys. I won't promise anything within a firm timeline, but this certainly won't be my last one. 
> 
> After watching 10.03, I just wanted a nice, soft thing to close it out on - and come on, Sam saying "stuff his face" in relation to Dean? Yeah, I couldn't help myself. Even though no actual face stuffing occurs. Ah well, next one then. (And as always, let me know if I'm rusty/get anything majorly wrong. My reintroduction to canon has been uh, an inundation.)

                “What’ll it be today, Sam?”

                Jerry looks up from behind the counter, wiping his hands off and approaching Sam with a smile.  Some things change, but Jerry’s quality service is constant.  Jerry’s Steak and Fries is the best burger joint in Lebanon (well not quite Lebanon, but pretty darn close) and he and Dean have been there enough that they’ve been on a first name basis with Jerry since they moved in last year.  Getting to know your neighbors does occasionally have its benefits.

                “Special request – two of Dean’s usual and I’ll have, hell, make mine a double too.”  Dean had not only been extremely tired, but extremely hungry.  Buy crap food (crap being relative, since it’s pretty fucking delicious), stuff Dean’s face, and get drunk.  Although maybe drunk is an extreme reaction.  Sam doesn’t want to drink, really, he just wants Dean.

                He’s been drunk plenty of times because of that reason, namely when Dean’s been taken away from him.  Which has been a lot.  Sam suppresses the thought and sits down while he waits for their order and pulls out his phone to check for a reply from Dean.  He’d shot him _back in twenty_ while Dean conked out on the bed, intent on waking him up when he returns with the good stuff.

                Looks like Dean is still out.  Good.

                Sam’s right arm throbs with pain and he automatically fishes for the Tylenol he’s been eating like candy, only to find that he doesn’t have it on him.  He sighs, trying to remember if there’s any in the Impala.  Given the still nasty state of the car, he’s betting a hard no on that one.  When Dean was…

                No, he’s not going to entertain that thought right now.  He just got him back (again) and for the moment, that’s enough.  Putting one thing back to normal at a time is enough, and right now his only concern is Dean.

                Some hunters manage to have perfectly normal careers, Sam supposes. Well, as normal as you can get in their line of work.  No getting caught up in inter-spherical wars, shot through with the powers of heaven and hell.  Die old, die young, but always with cool scars and a knowing that you’ve helped save the world.

                Sam’s starting to find that kind of responsibility tiring and after this whole Cain business, Sam is exhausted right down to his fucking soul.  He sighs again, and Jerry looks at him like he’s about to disintegrate.

                “Everything alright, Sam?”

                Sam tries for a weary smile.  “Yeah, just… work’s been rough lately.”  Jerry doesn’t ask beyond that, brings him a lemonade, and leaves Sam with his thoughts again.  Very suddenly, Sam wants to sleep for a week with Dean wrapped around his body so he knows exactly where he is.  Hell, that had been going okay too, _them._ Before all this.  Sam misses it, more than anything else and maybe since Dean is Dean again, they can put that back on the table.  During that time Dean had been gone, Sam hadn’t even so much as looked at anyone else and now that Dean is breathing the same air as he is again, he can feel that pull.  That desire.

                Even though it’s been a grand total of two hours since Dean was cured and he’s so fucking tired he can’t quite see straight.  Of course, that’s how it’s always been, between Dean and himself.  Always how it will be.

                Jerry comes and places the bag with his order in it, looking at Sam’s untouched lemonade.  “I’m closing up soon but if you need to sit for a minute-”

                “Nah, I’m find, Jer, really.  Thanks for the lemonade.”  Just to show he’s sincere, Sam drinks half of it in and gulp and gives Jerry forty dollars with a smile.  “Keep the change, I uh, I gotta go make sure Dean is alright.”

                It’s a seven minute drive back to the Bunker, but Sam makes it in four.

                The lights are still off in the library and the war room, so Dean hasn’t likely moved beyond his room.  Sam makes himself walk slower as he approaches the door to Dean’s room and transfers their dinner to his right hand, gently knocking with a soft “Dean?”

                No answer.

                It’s slightly open and to Sam’s surprise, empty.  The bedside lamp is on, and Dean’s clothes are in the floor, but no Dean.  Sam steps inside and puts the bag down on the desk, the beginnings of panic making his pulse race, only to turn around when he hears “lookin’ for me?”

                Dean’s standing in the doorway in the oldest, most threadbare gray t-shirt and boxers he owns, his bathrobe open and the sheen of shower sweat clinging prettily to his skin.

                He’s the most beautiful thing Sam’s ever seen.

                “I got dinner.”  Sam points at Dean’s desk and swallows his relief, willing his mind to stop racing and just _be okay._

                “I smell extra onions, good job Sammy.”  Dean touches his shoulder on the way past and sits down splay-legged at his desk chair, rifling through the bag like a bear seeking honey.  Sam hovers for a second before Dean gives him a look and he goes over to the bed, sinking down on the edge and taking his spicy fries from Dean.  Sam’s stomach growls as he shoves two into his mouth and alright, maybe he should have fed himself at some point in the last twelve hours.

                “Drink?”  Dean’s already got a mouth full of cheeseburger, looking at Sam with a hopeful expression and yeah, Sam’s on that too.

                “Got a taste for anything specific?”

                “Water.  Lots of it.”

                Sam leaves him to his burger and goes to the kitchen, still chomping fries on his way there.  He licks the Cajun spice off of his fingers and thinks about Dean’s lips smeared in grease, shiny and salty against his own.  God, he wants to put the moves on him and make sure he really is okay, that _his_ Dean is back in that body and that when he wakes up in the morning, it’ll be to a sleep-rough “mornin’, Sammy” and Dean's hand traveling down his abs in order to curl his fingers around his morning wood.

                He ends up gulping a glass of water down himself before returning to Dean’s room.  Dean is exactly where he left him, the remnants of his first burger gone and the second one a third of the way consumed.  Dean mumbles “thanks” around his current mouthful and takes the glass offered to him from Sam, his fingertips lingering and a lightning-sharp glint in his eye making Sam snap to full awareness.

                “How’s your burger?”  Sam starts in on his chicken sandwich, the breading absolutely perfect and the honey mustard the sweetest of elixirs.  Right now, only Dean would taste better.

                Given how Dean just looked at him, Sam might get his chance sooner than he thought.

                Dean swallows and turns to face Sam a little better.  “Incredible – was kinda starting to forget what food tasted like.”  Dean takes another bite and chews with obvious relish – but the statement makes Sam’s stomach do a sick roll and suddenly he isn’t too hungry anymore.

                The feeling must make it to his face because Dean stops eating and puts his right hand on Sam’s knee.  “Sam, I’m fine, seriously.  Just a little suppressed appetite, that’s all.”

                It really isn’t all, but Sam knows Dean’s trying to make him feel better – which should be proof enough he’s alright, right?  “Well it... it saves me asking how you feel.”

                “Yeah.”  Dean scoots his chair closer and bumps knees with Sam.  “I mean, fine is relative.  Feels like I’ve had the insides of my veins brushed with steel wool, y’know?” 

                Sam wishes he didn’t know what he was talking about but…

                “I remember.  And then there’s the itching.” 

                Dean smiles, sipping his water.  “That’s the worst part, cause you can’t scratch it.  Balls you can scratch – but not your major arteries.  No spell to fix that one.”

                Sam laughs, genuinely laughs and okay, if this is how they’re gonna deal with this situation, he’ll take it.  Dean laughs with him and seeing his eyes crinkle, well, it eases a tension in Sam’s heart that’s been firmly lodged there for months now. 

                Dean stops laughing a second later and looks right at Sam, his eyes warm and… safe.  “But really, Sammy, ‘m okay.”  He leans towards him and puts a hand on Sam’s chest, his touch pure reassurance, grounding them both and with it, Sam forgets all about being hungry.

                “I believe you.”  Sam uses his good arm to reach out to Dean and touch his face, daring to hope for a little more.  Like Jerry’s burgers, this never really changes, what they have between them. 

                “Hey,” Dean murmurs, and slides his hand up to Sam’s neck, over the side of his face and up through his hair to cup the back of his head; the exact same move worked on Sam when he was sixteen, and works even better now, almost twenty years later.  Sam doesn’t even pretend to resist and like a planet to its sun, he’s drawn to Dean by forces that feel as natural as walking or tying his shoes.

                It just _is._

Sam’s kissed Dean a million times.  Hell, double that.  And yet, it never fails to ignite a spark in his belly that doesn’t take anything to turn into an inferno.  Sam keeps it in check though, because he can already tell this isn’t a kiss meant to start anything, not yet.  This is “I’m here and back and _you need to stop worrying.”_ Yeah, Sam gets all of that from a ten second kiss where Dean didn’t even open his mouth to him.

                And yet, even that brief, beautiful contact still leaves Sam’s heart racing at double its normal pace.  Dean doesn’t quite pull away, just makes enough room so that Sam can look in his eyes.

                “See?  Nothin’ missing Sammy, no one here but you and me.”  Dean blinks and Sam looks – _hard –_ into the smoky jade color that Dean’s eyes turn when he’s exhausted, slightly bloodshot from monumental tiredness and overwhelming relief.  Sam cups Dean’s face and tips his head back, just a little, so he can catch his eyes in the light better.

                “I missed you.”

                Sam’s voice shatters a bit, and if his eyes well a touch, Dean doesn’t mention it.

                “Me too, Sammy.”

                Dean kisses him again and this time he says, _sorry, I love you, I_ need _you._

He’s always been better at saying that sort of thing through touch, and Sam’s a master of interpretation.  Dean’s mouth opens and Sam’s tongue slides right in, Dean’s tender, wet, and tasting not only of onions but exactly as he always has blended beside that extra tang, slightly sweet, vibrant, and to Sam at least, perfect. Sam really sees no need to move for the rest of the night, because this is exactly all he’s ever going to need, right here.

                Leaning into the gap between the desk and bed starts to get uncomfortable and all it takes is Sam gently tugging at the back of Dean’s neck to get him to follow over to the bed, the kiss never breaking, even when Dean comes down on Sam and absolutely _blankets_ him.  They wrap around each other, perfect on the first try, Dean’s robe covering even more than just his body can.  It’s a dance they have long since perfected, one that even hell can’t strip the pattern of.  Hands in each other’s hair, arms tangled for brief, glorious seconds before moving to hold each other even closer, it seems like chaos but Sam knows they’ll get it right, will find exactly how they want to hold each other.

                Maybe it really was burned into them by some higher force; neither of them have ever really questioned it, least of all Sam.  Just like the sky is blue, the roads are asphalt, and Dean secretly prefers lagers to ales, they’re simply facts of being.

                Sam loves every second.

                Dean hums against his mouth, and Sam backs off a touch.  “Stay here?”

                Like hell if Sam is sleeping in his own room for the next year or six.  “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere, Dean.”  Sam doesn’t think he’s physically capable of actually resting with so much as one wall between them, much less three.  “Sure you don’t mind me spooning you from the right?”  His arm still hurts and sleeping on his side tends to do help, even if it does mean he won’t get to play pillow to Dean’s head for another couple weeks.

                “Sammy, you could spoon me from the ceiling and I would go along with it.”  Dean smiles down at him and this whole time, Sam’s been trying to ignore his cock, unashamedly hard because _it’s Dean_ and well, making out gets him going even if it is just making out.

                Never mind that Dean kisses him like he’s a junky going for the longest hit of his life.

                “I’ll uh, handle it.”  Sam isn’t going to push Dean into anything he’s not ready for, not yet.  Even after all that, Dean’s still soft and it’s completely understandable, it truly is.  Demonic possession fucks with your basic body systems enough as it is, never mind sexual impulse.

                Dean rocks his hips against him, and Sam has to swallow hard to keep his throat from going dry.  “You sure?”  God, with the way Dean bites his lip and hoods his eyes, it’s hard as hell to say no.

                But Sam wants them both back on top before he tries _anything._

“Positive – I’ve gotten pretty good with my left hand anyway.”

                Dean kisses him, and halfway through doing so, yawns, blasting Sam with mega onion breath.  “That’s my boy.”

                Sam scrunches his nose, trying to get away from the smell – consider his boner effectively dead.  “Gross – go brush your teeth, I wanna shower.”  Sam stands with him and with a grumble, Dean goes back to the bedroom while Sam clears their trash away.

                When he comes back half an hour later, scrubbed so clean his skin shines, Dean is sleeping so hard that he doesn’t so much as grunt when Sam snuggles up to his back and makes plans to hold him for as close to eternity as he can.

 

___

                There’s no point in looking at the time when Sam wakes up, because he just doesn’t care.

                The warm stickiness of sleep sweat against his front is what brings him back to wakefulness, that and the throbbing stiffness of his right arm – but it doesn’t matter, because Dean is exactly where he was when he fell asleep last night:

                Wrapped safely in Sam’s arms, his naked back molded to Sam’s front, and neither of them had so much as moved.  Given that they are still in the same position, it’s a miracle that he’s able to move at all.  Well, almost the same – Sam had been holding Dean’s hand against his front but at some point during the night, their fingers had unlinked.

                Sam wriggles his way back to it and very, very gently turns them so that he ends up on his back and Dean’s head ends up on Sam’s chest, the change in position bringing the softest of sounds from Dean’s mouth as he’s shifted.  Sam very badly needs to put his arm back in his sling but he’s not letting Dean go just yet, warm and safe and at peace.  Sam doesn’t care if he spends the whole day here, wrapped around his brother like he was fucking made for it.

                He moves so that he can spread his legs and sneakily adjust his morning wood out his fly, biting back a moan when he feels the tip rub against the blankets.  He’s always sensitive like this after sleeping, and having Dean’s hard body glued to his is doing him no favors in suppressing it. 

                Oh and Dean’s hard too, his cock hot against Sam’s hip like it’s trying to burn itself into his skin.  All it does is kick up his own arousal another notch, and fighting the sharp, sudden pain that shoots through his right arm, manages to get his fingers around himself.  The first stroke makes precome start pouring like a faucet from the slit, his foreskin bunching so that it gets smeared all over the blankets and his fingers.

                It’s suddenly way too hot.

                Careful to not kick the blankets off of Dean, Sam uses his right leg to free his lower body and stare down at himself, dick pulsing with suppressed desire in his grip.  It’s not too much to ask is it, to be able to jerk off while you hold your brother?  No, it isn’t, and Sam will be just fine doing exactly that until Dean’s back up to speed.

                He closes his eyes and buries his nose in Dean’s hair, inhaling as he strokes and lets himself get lost in having Dean back in the same bed as him, fully aware that when he comes it’s going to be a fucking mess and if it gets on Dean, well… he’ll take care of it.

                Right up until a sleep-growly “lemme help, Sammy” makes him freeze midstroke.

                “Dean?”

                “Never could hold still when you beat off, could you?”  Dean’s looking up at him, his sleepy eyes warm and beautiful.  “Shoulda woken me up when you started.”

                “I didn’t want you to-”

                Dean shuts him up with a kiss and with insanely unfair smoothness, ends up situating himself on Sam’s lower body.  The swell of his boxer-clad ass rubs against Sam’s cock, nowhere near enough friction and alright, maybe Dean’s in better shape than Sam thought he was, rendering Sam's earlier concerns entirely moot. 

                Because if Dean asked to ride him right now, Sam would have zero problem consenting to it.

                “Dreamt about you, Sam.”  Dean closes in for another hot kiss and rubs himself against Sam’s stomach, assured in his movements even though he just woke up from a deep sleep.  “Was fuckin’ hot, too.”  Dean’s tongue swirls around his and Sam moans, his hands roaming down into the waistband of Dean’s boxers.  He squeezes and kneads Dean’s ass, fast approaching desperation when Dean goes all pliant against his body.

                “Was it about something like this?” Sam bites at Dean’s plush lower lip, pulling it into his mouth and sucking on it hard.  Dean groans, grinding down on Sam’s abs even harder than before.

                “Yeah – thought I was gonna come in my sleep.”  Dean pulls Sam up so that he’s in his lap, Dean’s cock poking out of the loose left leg of his boxers.  Sam grabs them with his left hand and jerks both he and Dean off at the same time, his face buried in Dean’s neck.  Dean groans again, trying hard to stay upright.  “Pretty much… God, Sammy, exactly like this.”

                Sam nods and tries his hardest to hold Dean a little tighter.  “Wanna fuck you, Dean.”  No use in keeping it to himself, not when they’re this far gone.

                “Fuck yeah you do, shit.”  Dean tilts Sam’s head back and kisses him hungrily, looking right into his eyes.  “Just like this, Sammy.”

                _Just like this._

Sam’s brain shorts out, and the hunt for lube suddenly becomes an insane priority.

                “Fuck, Dean, yeah… lube?”

                “Under the pillow, just like always.”

                Dean kisses him – hard – while he reaches for it and tries to get Dean out of his boxers.  Sam can work with just being through the fly, but pulling undies aside to fuck doesn’t work so well when it isn’t panties…

                Which Sam sincerely hopes Dean is still into – another time.

                Dean solves the problem by reaching down and catching the fabric in the most threadbare place and tearing, giving Sam all the access he needs.  Lube ends up spilled over both he and Dean’s fingers, Sam slicking him up and Dean breaching himself almost immediately, their fingers tangling in that hot, intimate space.

                “Fuckin’ missed you, baby boy.”  Dean whimpers as Sam adds two fingers to Dean’s own, fucking in and out alongside Dean’s.  Dean’s mouth starts to run like water when he’s being prepped and stretched, and Sam isn’t going to even attempt to shut him up – he wants to hear it, all of it.

                “Didn’t think we’d get another shot at this,” Sam whispers, so hot for Dean that he feels like he’s gonna burst into flames.  “Remember the first time we fucked like this?”

                “Damn right I do.”  Dean finally decides he’s open enough and pulls off Sam’s fingers and his own, finds the lube and slicks up Sam’s cock.  “Right after that first wendigo hunt.”  Dean shifts so that Sam can tuck his knees under himself, his cock jutting proudly upright as Dean wraps his fingers around the base and guides himself down, both of them biting the other’s shoulder as that beautiful reconnection is achieved.  Sam’s eyes tear up as the heat of Dean’s body envelops him, the air between them way too hot to be considered comfortable.

                But damn him to hell if Sam is going to let him get any further away than he already is.  People have made fun of them for always standing too close to each other, but they don’t understand – Sam needs Dean like air, and vice versa.

                Dean sinks that last, perfect half an inch down and looks down at Sam, mouth right against his.  “Seems like we didn’t even wipe the mud and blood off before we went at it.”  Dean rocks down, capturing Sam in another kiss.  “Remember you holding my arms behind my back and you just, God, fuckin’ made me take it.” 

                Sam moans, the memory filling his mind’s eye – that had been a wild time.  Hunt, fuck, sleep, look for Dad, repeat.  It had been glorious, messy, and even a little heartbreaking at times.  “That was so long ago.”

                “Yeah.”  Dean says it quietly, and wraps his arms around Sam’s shoulders.  “Really long ago.”

                Sam stops the insidious memories, because he really doesn’t want to feel like this is yet another fuck with Dean where it will be their last.  He’d had enough of those for a lifetime.  Hell, ten lifetimes.

                Dean kisses him, soft and deep, and starts to move himself; all Sam has to do is keep his arms around him and kiss back.  There will be time for rough, biting, hard sex, complete with rimming, blowjobs – whatever Dean wants and Sam is willing to give.  But now?  He just meets Dean thrust for thrust, giving him what he can and keeping Dean angled so that his prostate is nailed every time.  Dean’s breath shatters every time he fucks himself back down, moaning _Sammy_ over and over again, just like he always does.

                It really is as sure as the sun setting and moon rising.

                “ _Dean.”_

All it takes is one last look and Sam comes, hard enough that his vision whites out and he feels Dean spill all over his chest and stomach, gasping and shuddering against him.  Sam manages to get his left hand free and stroke the last few spurts out of him, keeping the rough of his palm right over where Dean’s foreskin is pulled back.  Dean has to push him away with a mournful look, his senses overloaded.

                Ten years ago, this would have been just round one of God knows how many.  Now they both have to take time in between.

                Sam lets him go and as carefully as he can, lowers Dean to the bed while still keeping himself inside Dean’s body.  Dean doesn’t try to detach, opting to wraps his legs around Sam’s waist instead.

                “Not saying it isn’t just as good now but… my back hurts.”  Dean reaches up and pushes Sam’s hair out of his eyes, sweat dripping off the ends of it onto his chest.  It’s intimate, tender, what Sam’s wanted and worked for ever since they started doing this.  “But you’re hard to quit.”

                “Notice I’m still inside you, so…”  Sam smiles down at him, trying not to wince where he’s supporting himself on his right arm.  “But yeah, you’re right.  You got heavier too, you jerk.”

                Dean playfully whaps him on the back of the head and squeezes his ass around Sam’s dick.  “Shut up, no I didn’t.”

                Sam cocks an eyebrow and gives Dean another kiss.  “Tell that to _my_ back.”

                Dean doesn’t say anything, just pulls on Sam’s head to kiss him again and as his tongue slides home one more time, Sam thinks that _maybe_ this time, they’ll get to keep this.

               

               

               

               

               

               

               

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from my all time favorite poem - and it's not the first time I've lifted bits of Whitman for titling my fics. Not only that, I've officially been writing SPN fic for over four years now - go me, right?


End file.
